


Lay Off Man, I'm Starvin'

by Not_You



Series: Not_You's Pandemic Follies [2]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Belly Rubs, Carrying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Food, Food Issues, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Bond, Sandwiches, Stuffing, am i even using this tag right, just discussion thereof, mantis needs a lot of calories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23459920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_You/pseuds/Not_You
Summary: People tend to assume that Mantis hates eating.  It makes sense, the idea of him being overwhelmed by food, turning away from anything greasy or fibrous and maybe living on some kind of liquid diet, a straw passed up through the filter opening of his mask.  The man is emaciated, it’s easy to draw the wrong conclusion if you’re not thinking about the metabolic demands of being that fucking psychokinetic.
Relationships: Liquid Snake/Psycho Mantis
Series: Not_You's Pandemic Follies [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683655
Comments: 39
Kudos: 55





	Lay Off Man, I'm Starvin'

People tend to assume that Mantis hates eating. It makes sense, the idea of him being overwhelmed by food, turning away from anything greasy or fibrous and maybe living on some kind of liquid diet, a straw passed up through the filter opening of his mask. The man is emaciated, it’s easy to draw the wrong conclusion if you’re not thinking about the metabolic demands of being that fucking psychokinetic.

Eli can feel Mantis’s hunger across their mental link as he approaches their quarters, textured with the beginning of satiety and the usual prickle of irritation at the available supplies. Mantis needs to eat too much to be a snob, but Shadow Moses has the usual problems of an institutional kitchen, and the produce is pathetic. 

_The meat is also pathetic,_ Mantis grumbles, and Eli opens the door to find him hunched over an enormous steak, far too busy chewing to speak aloud. His mask is shoved up just far enough to free his mouth for eating, and his pointy elbows are planted on the table. _The glue was the best part of this horse._

Eli chuckles, coming to sit beside him, idly rubbing those bony shoulders with one hand. “I hear it’s better in the summer,” he says, and Mantis mutters that it had better be.

At least the ice cream apparently passes muster, two large glasses filled with the remains of milkshakes. If Eli plays his cards right, he might prevail upon Mantis to make him one later. For now, Mantis needs his second major caloric load of the day. He wakes up ravenous for breakfast every day, and then sustains himself with smaller meals until it’s safe to settle in and have the kind of massive dinner that sometimes knocks him into the most adorable food coma. He tries hard not to be disgusting, but his table manners do suffer a bit. Just enough to be cute, if you ask Eli. Mantis’s mixture of pleasure and irritation at being found cute is warm and comforting, something that always gives Eli a sense of home. 

Despite Mantis’s contempt for the available produce, there is a mixing bowl still half-full of salad. Mantis has no intention of dying of heart disease or a bowel blockage, and is always sure to eat his vegetables, even if they take up space for almost no caloric value, something he bitches about every time. Now he swallows the last of his steak like a snake with a whole goat and then pulls the salad closer, muttering about negative calorie foods as he devours it. He’ll need something else to top off, and Eli looks around the table in a survey of the available food products. 

Mantis always brings more variety than even he can eat, knowing that Eli will collect the excess and make sure the perishables go back into refrigeration. It’s the closest they get to being domestic, and now Eli lovingly assembles a peanut butter and jam and bacon sandwich. The first time he had ever even heard of this combination he had been appalled, but he has come around to it. In normal doses, not made triple-decker, like this one. He sets it beside Mantis’s bowl and makes a sandwich of his own.

“You’re a bad influence,” he says when Mantis looks over at him, and Mantis chuckles.

“I do my best,” he says, and pulls his own monstrous sandwich into range with his telekinesis, the plate making a familiar scraping noise as it glides along the brushed-aluminum tabletop.

Eli wouldn’t say he has a thing about watching Mantis eat, but he also doesn’t not have a thing about watching Mantis eat. The way he just attacks everything is really cute, somehow; thin, scarred lips curled back in a ravenous snarl as he crams the sandwich into his mouth. He looks like some kind of baby predator, something so small and so skinny but so determined to consume everything it can, a tiny wolf pup or an eaglet, gimlet-eyed and dedicated.

Few things in this world are quite as filling as these horrible sandwiches. They are apparently part of how Elvis Presley got so fat, and Eli has no trouble believing it. In the same amount of time he battles through the single one that will be his evening meal, Mantis eats every crumb of his triple-decker iteration. Eli knows that it was a success because Mantis is like a puppet with its strings cut the moment he sits back from the plate. He slumps in his chair, and only after a solid five seconds or so does he muster the will to pull his mask down.

“Daft little cunt,” Eli murmurs, and puts the most perishable of the food away before gathering Mantis into his arms. They have janitorial staff, but there’s no reason to be wasteful. “Comfortable?” he asks, and gets a vague sense of affirmation from Mantis. Good enough, for a food coma. He carries Mantis back to their quarters, his powers rippling around them both to make people not see them in the corridors.

Eli can feel Mantis’s discomfort across their link, and chuckles, laying him out on the bed and then stretching out beside him. The only time Mantis’s belly is noticeably round is right after he has gorged himself, and Eli rubs slow circles on it, the kind that Mantis has (very grudgingly) admitted are soothing.

Mantis doesn’t think words at Eli, but he does send him a hazy image of the two of them cuddled up under the covers, and Eli is glad to make it a reality. Turning the lights down in and climbing back into bed, he wraps around Mantis from behind, and nuzzles into the back of the balaclava Mantis sleeps in. It doesn’t shield him quite as well as the gas mask, but there’s usually no one around but Eli’s familiar dreams, and the fabric is much easier on Mantis’s skin.

 _Comfortable?_ Eli asks, and Mantis makes a quiet purring noise, cuddling back against him and tucking his skinny arm under Eli’s.

 _Yes,_ Mantis mumbles into Eli’s mind, and then pulls him down into a shared dream of something sunlit, green, and soothing.


End file.
